Chapter 6 #12
She stares at me. "Are you telling me that whole scene was just for drama?"
"You raised me," I say. "Are you surprised?"
"You know this isn’t a game," she says.
I take a sip of water. "You think I don’t know that?"
"You act like you don’t, Gio," she snaps. "For God’s sake. I told you not to touch one person. Just one! How much longer are you going to go against me?"
I bite back ten replies and rub my face instead. "Can you calm down for three seconds?" I mutter. "You’re acting like I ruined a treaty."
She now stares at me like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever created.
"You kissed him," she hisses. "Do you realize what you’ve done?"
"Yes," I say.
"I kissed him." I make it sound as flat as possible.
Her eyes narrow. "He’s the son of our biggest partner. The company cares. His parents care. Everyone cares, Gio."
"Yeah, well, tell them to relax," I say. "It wasn’t him. It was me."
She scoffs. "You’re both in that video."
I drag a hand through my hair, already annoyed, and look at her.
"Be honest," I say. "Do you seriously picture Rava as the type of guy who’d walk up to me like, ‘hey, psst, come here so we can start making out’?"
She frowns. "Gio."
"No, really," I push. "You see him doing that? You see him starting it? Because I don’t. I see him barely able to say hi without overthinking it for three business days."
She doesn’t answer, and that’s my point.
"I’m the one who suggested it," I lie, shrugging like it’s nothing. "I’m the one who pushed. I said we should do it and he just went along with it. Because I can be convincing. Because I’m a bad influence. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"So if anyone asks?" I go on. "If the Big Company People or Mr. Proud Canadian Father want to know whose brilliant idea it was, just throw me under the bus. Say it was mine. Say I dragged him into it."
She looks uncomfortable, but I don’t stop.
"Don’t stress about their perfect, brilliant little Canadian boy," I say. "He’s already got too many people ready to blame him for breathing wrong. You want a villain in this story? You’ve got me." I tap my own chest with two fingers.
"Point here."
She folds her arms. "Do you have any idea what this could do to his future? To his reputation? To his family?"
"Yes," I say, and for once I don’t joke.
"And that’s why I’m telling you it was my fault. Because it was." I hold her stare. "He didn’t ask for any of this," I go on. "I pushed it. I always push everything too far, you know it. That’s my thing. I’m the screw-up. So keep it that way."
She studies me, trying to see if I’m covering for him.
Because I am.
Obviously.
"What? I’ve been kissing people I shouldn’t since I was what, thirteen. This is not new behavior."
"You’d really take all the blame?" she asks.
"Already did," I say.
"I’m the Fontana disaster. It’s literally my brand." I grab my keys off the table.
"Where are you going?" she demands.
"To fix what I can," I say.
"And probably make everything worse. But I’d rather they crucify me to my face than him behind his back."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already heading for the door.
37) I Didn’t Know
Rava
I hear the door open behind me. Either someone is here to drag me out by the hood, or someone is about to sit down and listen to me emotionally malfunction.
I turn my head, already exhausted by the idea of both.
Whoever it is, I honestly don't care anymore. I've already hit my quota of pain for today.
Got slapped. Got yelled at. Got called a disappointment in stereo.
What's left? Kick me off the roof? Add it to the list.
I look back. Of course. Who else would it be?
Fontana.
"I brought beer," he says. Like this is normal.
Like anything about us is.
He comes closer and swings a bag next to me, all proud. "It's the good stuff," he says. "Not that tragic wine you were drinking last time."
I huff out a laugh, still staring at the lights in front of me. My voice comes out quieter than I mean. "How'd you know I was here, you creep…"
He drops down beside me. "Jin told me," he says simply.
I stare straight ahead. Jin. Traitor.
"What if someone saw you coming up here?" I ask, anxiety kicking back in. "Did they?"
"Don't worry. No cameras. No one knows I'm here." He grabs one of the beers, lifts it to his mouth, and opens it with his teeth.
I stare at him, completely offended on behalf of... everything.
"Are you insane?? Don't ever do that again!"
He just laughs and hands me the bottle like I'm the dramatic one here.
"Why, what are you scared of?" he says. "That I'll ruin my smile and turn ugly?"
I look at him over the rim as I take my first sip.
"You're already ugly, Fontana," I tell him, smiling.
"I hope you brought tissues," he says, taking his own first sip.
"Because I can start crying in the next minute."
I burst out laughing, loudly, because the way he says it with a completely straight face is ridiculous.
It's ironic, really.
Because objectively? He's one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen.
If not the most.
And that's annoying as hell. Because he's Gio.
But I can't pretend it's not true. He is beautiful in that kind of way that should come with sirens.
Messy hair. Split lip. A faint bruise near his jawline. Every mark on his face screams one thing at me: Stay away.
I look at him. Take a sip.
Gio shifts next to me. "You're staring."
I don't answer. He turns toward me, leans back on one hand.
"Worried about me?"
My voice is flat. "Your lip."
He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"It's... healing."
There is a long pause. "Stop looking at my mouth, Ravioli," he says, taking another sip.
I turn to him.
He is smiling, but there is nothing sweet about it. It is bitter. "Didn't those lips cause enough damage," he adds, eyes locked on mine, "when they touched yours?"
My jaw literally drops.
I turn my head back to the lights. My face is burning.
I take a sip of beer. Then another. And another.
He's right, though. Those lips did cause damage.
Not just one kind, either. From every possible angle.
First, there's the obvious one, my father's hand across my face. His disgust.
All because of that kiss. Because of those lips touching mine for a few seconds.
Then there's my brain.
My quiet, boring, organized little brain. I can't stop thinking about it. About how it felt. How easy it was to lean into him.
That kiss took everything I thought I knew about myself and tipped it over.
And then there's the... other damage. The worst kind.
It made me want more. More kisses. More closeness. That kiss created a version of me I don't know how to handle.
A version that doesn't want to go back. A version that's sitting on a rooftop right now wishing the world would disappear and leave just us and this view and this stupid beer.
So yeah.
His lips do cause damage. He has no idea how much.
"Anyway," he says after a minute, like we're talking about the weather, "you’re a good kisser."
My head snaps a little in his direction.
"I didn't expect it," he goes on, taking another sip. "Thought you'd be stiff and awkward. But you... surprised me."
I immediately look away again, staring at the buildings. In another life, in another version of this night, I'd probably laugh.
Maybe tease him back. Maybe say ‘you weren't bad yourself’ and pretend I'm not dying inside.
But right now? My anxiety is so loud I can't enjoy any of it.
My mind is on my future.
My family. All the possible outcomes where everything falls apart because of that one moment.
I take another sip, then turn back to him.
"How do you do that?" I ask.
He looks at me, confused. "Do what?"
I gesture at him vaguely. "This. All of this. Doing things and acting like nothing touches you."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I feel like my whole world is going to get fucked because of that kiss," I say.
He stares at me for a second.
Then leans forward. "I don't know what kind of world you live in," he says, voice tighter now, "but mine's been fucked since long before that kiss."
He looks down. Picks at the label on his bottle. "And for the record," he adds, not looking at me, "it touched me."
I stay quiet. I think we both need a second. Then he takes a sip, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and speaks again.
"People think I don't care," he says softly. "That I don't feel shit. That I just... float through all of it." He looks up at the sky.
"They look at me like I'm already a warning sign. Like I came broken."
I don't breathe.
"They act like I woke up one day and just decided to be the walking disaster for fun. Like bad shit never happened to me. Like I just vibe my whole life and choose violence as a hobby."
He scoffs, shaking his head again. "No one ever stopped to think maybe I get this way because of things," he says.
"Because people fucked me up. Because adults weren't actually adults. Because I had to grow up way too fast and figure shit out by myself."
I stay quiet. He never talks like this.
Not with me. Not with anyone, I think.
And I'm not about to stop it.
"They look at me and see chaos," Gio says.
"So they decided that's all I can be. The loud one. The crazy one. The one who doesn't care about anything. It's easy. It saves them from asking questions."
He takes another sip, slower this time.
"You know what happens when you try to say something real?" he continues.
"You probably know. They laugh, or they change the subject. Or they go, 'oh, that's just Gio being dramatic.'"
He's not wrong.
"So I stopped," he shrugs. "Stopped telling anyone when shit hurts. Stopped saying when something isn't okay. Just turned it into jokes. Fights. Parties. Easier to be the problem than the person."
"I'm not untouched, Rava," he says quietly. "You're not the only one who's had a rough time. You just... show it different. You go quiet. I go loud. Same crap, different fonts."
He glances at me. I look down.